Adieu to Destiny (The Adventures of Anabel Axelrod Book 4) Read online

  Luke called late that Monday night and reminded me why I was happy to be alive. We had fun with FaceTime. Or I should say BodyTime, since our faces weren’t too involved. I tried to get Luke to swear not to store any images, but that turned into a circular argument that went something like...

  “Look, I know you lack experience, but a good girlfriend provides her man with phone porn when he’s out of town.”

  I replied firmly, “One of us has to think of our future. If those pictures were to ever be found, it could mean big trouble. I’m going to need a swear to God here, Luke, or no deal.”

  He snorted and arrogantly reassured me, “Our children will never find my favorite pictures of their smiling, headless mother.”

  I giggled and murmured faintly, “Not the future I had in mind.”

  He asked curiously, “Oh yeah? What future of ours did you have in mind then?”

  I responded more enthusiastically, “The one where we don’t give any Ethics Committee the ammunition to kill your nomination for Emperor of the World due to headless images of a naked woman on your phone.”

  He paused, and then whistled slowly. “Well, well. I’ve got an ambitious woman on my hands. So you think you’ve got what it takes to be my First Lady, huh?”

  I sniffed, “First Lady? Ha! I want to be the first, and only, Empress--and she’s no lady.”

  He replied smoothly, “It so happens, I’m interviewing for that position tonight.”

  I lowered my voice. “Oh, are you? Can I apply?”

  His voice lowered, too, but in doubt. “It’s a rigorous screening process. Can you handle it, Anabel?”

  I stated softly, “I can handle anything my future Emperor dishes out.”

  He was silent a moment and then mused, “Can you? Hmm, we’ll see. First, we need proof you’re a real woman.”

  I bit my bottom lip. “Of course I am, but how can I prove that?”

  He gave a long-suffering sigh. “I believe you. If it was left up to me this would not be necessary, but the people of the world require more than your word. I’m afraid you’ll have to pull that pretty dress up. The people have to see what you’ve got. That means a complete photo shoot, front and back.”

  I slowly started pulling my dress up my thighs. “Well, if you’re sure it’s for the people…”

  He reassured me with a short laugh, “It’s certainly not for my benefit. It’s all about the future welfare of the planet.” He murmured in approval, “Will you look at that--no panties. A future Empress needs an eco-friendly pussy.” He said severely, “Do you think it’s appropriate behavior to giggle at your Emperor, Anabel? That’s right, spread those legs a little further and impress the liberals. They eat up this kind of stuff. Okay, this is your final warning--any more girlish giggles and you’ll have to reapply tomorrow night. Mmm, not that their size matters to me, but I predict the conservatives are going to love your big…ideas. Why don’t you bounce up and down for the camera?”

  That night, I had the Luke nightmare a second time.

  Tuesday, I missed my yoga class for a group dress shopping mission with the Brides of Chucky. I came home with two new dresses for the Las Vegas weddings--a long teal gown and a short coral pink cocktail--and a frickin’ migraine.

  Tuesday night was a joint bridal shower thrown for Stella and Anna by a group of my mother’s old school friends at Jamie Wade’s home with a bathroom-theme, attendance mandatory. At least the booze flowed freely at that shindig because the Advil alone wasn’t cutting it.

  I received only a terse text from Luke that night but was so miserable; I’d fallen into bed without caring. I’d woken up sweating from the Lukemare for the third night in a row.

  Wednesday was more shopping with all the girls until early afternoon. If that wasn’t enough, NanaBel bonded big time with James Byrd when he came into the store for our business meeting. Mia Besosa had not forgotten her threat to have our first protégé meeting, so I’d overlapped the two appointments so James and Mia could get acquainted. While in my office with Mia, nobody told me that James had arrived until he’d already spent a half hour having coffee at the Fare with my grandmother.

  NanaBel had invited both James and Mia to stay for the dinner party at my apartment that night to play cards and games with a group of us, including Mac and Diego. My grandmother was making her famous chicken and noodles with dumplings. I brooded over my glass of Riesling while James, NanaBel, and Charles Barkley laughed together. Admiral Byrd helped them in the kitchen like there was no place he’d rather be. They were getting along famously, but I childishly wanted it to be Luke that was charming the living heck out of my grandmother, not my flipping gorgeous, stud of a money man.

  So I snitched James out and told my grandmother that he was super-kinky. I whispered in her ear how he made girls wait in his closet before they maybe, just maybe, got a taste of his sexual favors. And he had a trapeze.

  I know, that wasn’t very nice, but enough was enough, right?

  Too bad NanaBel only raised her eyebrows and commented admiringly, “My, I would imagine the boy has some interesting investment schemes, too.”

  I almost snapped and told my grandmother that Luke had single-handedly brought the Ogelbachen pig farming empire to its social and financial knees in a cold-blooded revenge scheme that had spanned over two decades in the making, but I reined in my temper in time. My grandmother has never been one to be impressed by boasters. It would be better if she discovered Luke’s talents and accomplishments for herself.

  Luke sent a short text on Wednesday night, but I was half in the bag hoping it would help me sleep and wasn’t offended by his usual brevity. I had the bad dream for the fourth night in a row.

  Mac and Jazy butted in on my Thursday morning yoga class, wanting to get flexible. I knew why Mac and Jazy wanted to get “flexible” all right, especially after seeing me do the splits at the airport, but when all six feet of the virgin Tre J strode into the yoga studio on Thursday as well, I shook my head in surprised alarm.

  “Crookie will probably go into cardiac arrest if you do the splits for him!”

  Tre J grinned while my bloodshot, dull blue topaz eyes in their sunken sockets studied her beautiful, glowing face with suspicion. She looked like the twin sister of the Norse goddess Freyja, although Tre had a yoga mat instead of a chariot, and wore yoga pants instead of a cloak of falcon feathers. I inspected her shape, outlined in her body-hugging exercise clothes. There was nothing subtle about Tre’s big curving hips and bodacious breasts.

  I sighed. “I hope your hymen is still intact. Please promise you aren’t planning to elope to get pregnant.”

  Tre chuckled while she unrolled her mat next to mine. “I probably haven’t had a hymen since I took my first fence on a horse at eleven. What is it with you and elopements? That’s the second or third time you’ve warned me not to elope with Crookie.”

  “Huh, that’s strange,” I scoffed. “Believe me, if you must choose between an elopement and a wedding, forget anything I may have said and elope, I beg you. I’ll even give you gas money for a wedding present.” I did a few leg lifts while trying to stay awake. “All that I ask in return is that you please stay a virgin for a few years more.”

  Tre laughed again, shaking her cute blonde pig-tails. “These weddings are really getting to you, aren’t they?”

  “Crap, is it that obvious?” I glanced quickly over at Jaz and Mac, grateful they weren’t paying us any attention, but having their own low-voiced discussion. I didn’t want Anna or Stella to think I was being a shabby attendant. I may not be the wedding type, but I would never rain on their Dream Day.

  ‘Or make it their Dream Month,’ I thought, disgruntled at the unfairness of life.

  “Nah, don’t worry, it’s not obvious to most,” Tre reassured. “I can read the pacing of a caged beast longing for escape in your eyes.”

  ‘Hey, I didn’t do anything! Sure, I’m horny as a three-balled tomcat, but who is she calling a caged beast, anyway?’
the sex kitten voice complained.

  I laughed shortly. “Oh, can you?” I narrowed my eyes. Tre continued to smile composedly under my scrutiny, as she arranged her voluptuousness comfortably on the yoga mat. “That seems like an unusual talent. Is it recent, too?”

  “It’s been in the making for a few years, and yes, it has its uses,” Tre admitted modestly, lowering her blonde lashes around a tiny smile.

  I had no idea what uses she meant, but closed my eyes instead of asking, the brief squirt of curiosity wilting under my weariness. I allowed myself to drift off, the quiet murmurs of other conversations in the yoga studio flowing around the island of my mat while we waited for class to begin.

  A few peaceful moments later, Tre’s tentative voice broke the tranquil spell. “Bel?”

  “Hmm?” I answered drowsily, turning my head politely her way again, although my eyelashes appeared to be stuck together when I tried to open my eyes.

  “Every day that we get together, you seem a little more…tired and rundown. That’s not like you at all--you’re never this way.” I fought my eyelids opened to see Tre on her side, frowning down at me and picking her words with care. “You’ve always helped me out anytime I have a problem. I won’t get up in your business,” she gently patted my shoulder, “but if you need anything--anything at all, I’d be happy to return the favor.”

  I’d been wallowing in my own private pity party for most of the week. I missed Luke and I wanted to get our problem resolved. Every day that went by and Svettie wasn’t caught, I grew more resentful of the hold she had over our lives and the problems her actions have caused.

  For the last few weeks, events had conspired to keep Luke and me apart more than we were together. Whether it was the distance of living and working in separate cities, our personal commitments, our own agendas, people inserting themselves into our lives, or our family and friends demanding our attention, I was sick of it. I wanted our relationship to have top priority.

  It didn’t help my depressed mood that in the general course of life, it worked splendidly for me to use the “I’m a busy business owner” card to avoid the majority of social events that bored me to tears or made me crazy.

  Not for wedding activities, though. Not when you were an attendant in both of the damn things. Not when your grandmother had flown into town specifically to celebrate with her family and make sure all was well. Definitely not when the two brides were your best friend and your niece, and both were scary, hormonal basket cases.

  Every moment we’d all spent together during the past week was like walking through an emotional minefield. Either the Girls Gone Pregnant were laughing hysterically, or upset over a triviality and crying at the drop of a hat. At any second, one could explode, and often did, until I wished it was my head exploding to stop the insanity.

  Reggie was googly-eyed over Anna. That was cute, but it was also frustrating to see my brother stare in adoration at the mother of his unborn child, instead of putting the bratty chipmunk in a headlock and giving her noogies like he’d do in the good old days when Anna acted up.

  After getting the proof Diego was not screwing around, Mac was off in second honeymoon heaven with Diego where everything was pink clouds and happiness. My niece didn’t seem to find her mother’s cooing, vague responses of “Whatever you want, Stella!” and “Don’t worry, Stella, life is wonderful!” definitive answers to her many questions. I was left alone to deal with Stella’s waxing and waning nerves concerning marriage and motherhood.

  Stella hounded me for my opinions on topics such as placentophagy. I didn’t care how she fancied it up with a three-dollar word, the act of consuming your own afterbirth for nutritious reasons and to possibly prevent post-partum depression was incredibly gross, but I kept my composure. I didn’t go throw up in the nearest sink when she said her placenta would be whisked away, freeze-dried, and encapsulated, and did I consider $245.00 a fair price? I didn’t moan aloud when she asked me when Erik George should start roughing up her nipples to prepare for nursing to avoid cracking and bleeding--did I think the second or third trimester would work best?

  Stella’s unending barrage of disgusting questions required all my acting skills to retain consciousness, much less give rational replies, but I did it. I’ve never hemmed and hawed so successfully in all my years on Earth. I was too drained to be proud of my talents.

  Also, Pam was acting strangely while Jaz and Tre J were acting sneakier than normal. My sister, Kenna had impersonated a sober, rational human being all week, which had me suspicious, and the un-cousin had come up with an excuse to be out of town all week, which had NanaBel pursing her red lips at me in suspicion. Acting innocent of anything on that score was a piece of cake after Stella had roughed me up.

  All week, I’d also been waiting to be cornered by various relatives or friends, demanding the juicy details as to why Luke and I weren’t getting married. I was positive that Luke’s directive to not bug me would never be honored, especially by Anna or Stella. Unbelievably, it hadn’t happened. People were sympathetic, but they asked no personal questions. I was confused that nobody was hounding me, but I let down my guard down more each day that passed without any badgering.

  So if Tre’s delicately-worded offer of help before our Thursday Yoga class was the worst that would be thrown my way, I was happy to respond with sincere warmth.

  “I am damn tired, Tre.” I rolled on my side to face her and sighed. “I haven’t been sleeping well. All this time off for wedding stuff during the busy holiday time at the store when I should be working more, not less, drives me insane. I barely know the two new employees that started.”

  Tre asked curiously, “Isn’t Billy a capable store manager?”

  “Yeah, he is,” I replied slowly, reluctantly truthful. “He’s responsible, well-liked, and trustworthy. I’m very lucky to have him, and Stella.”

  The Norse goddess prompted softly, “But…?”

  I laughed and pouted, “But it’s my bookstore, dammit.”

  Tre smiled and nodded. “You know what you need, Bel?”

  I snickered. “Uh, yeah, I do, but you don’t, so what are you referring to?”

  “God, you Axelrod girls are so dirty-minded,” Tre exclaimed, this time pushing me on the shoulder.

  I was flung back on my mat from the force of Tre’s love pat, accidentally elbowing Jazy in the breast.

  “Ow! Excuse me, but that was my boob!” Jaz stopped her discussion with Mac in mid-sentence to glare at me while she rubbed her chest. Mac sat up to peer over Jazy’s shoulder at what had interrupted their conversation, but her face was slack with goofy happiness, unlike Jazy’s scowling surliness. “What are you trying to do, give me a tumor or something?”

  “Geez, Jaz, way to foil my evil plan.” I shook my head in disbelief at Jazy’s bitchiness. I heard Tre’s muffled laughter. “Hey, I’m sorry I accidentally hit your boob, okay? It was your friend, Hercules over here. She doesn’t know her own strength when she starts flinging us mortals around.”

  Jazy included the laughing Tre in her scowl and snarled, “Whatthefuckever.”

  Mac waved merrily and pulled Jazy back towards her mat. They started talking again in low voices while I turned to Tre, thumbing behind me with wide eyes. “What’s with Ms. Sunshine?”

  “Don’t take it personally. Haven’t you noticed she’s been grouchy all week? There must be something in the air; Jazy’s not sleeping so well, either.”

  “What’s her problem?”

  Tre lowered her voice to a confiding whisper. “She’s been having crazy nightmares about 69ing and crying babies watching from cribs, or some such kinky crap.” Tre shrugged. “I tried to listen when she talked about the dreams, but you know how boring it is when Jazy describes her dreams and how they don’t make sense?”

  “Geez, Tre, if that’s boring what kind of dreams does Jazy usually describe?” I asked in amazement. Tre shrugged with a laugh and I verified, “But she specifically said 69ing and babies?”
r />   “Something along those lines, yeah. Even for Jazy that’s pretty disgusting, huh?”

  “She’s pretty nasty,” I agreed distractedly.

  ‘Holy crap! Was Jazy butting in on my nightmare?’ I was appalled, but the night Dickie kidnapped me flashed through my mind.

  Jazy had gotten sick and dizzy when I was drugged. She had been convinced something was wrong with me when I was tied to a chair. It might have been a mistake not to follow up with Jazy.

  ‘Maybe she could be hypnotized and I could direct her psychic abilities towards more profitable enterprises, rather than her channeling my damn private life,’ I thought crankily.

  Tre sat up, icy-blue eyes fired with determination. “As I was saying before, what you need is some serious exercise. Jazy does too. Don’t get me wrong, yoga and jogging are fine, but sometimes you need to play so hard, you don’t feel like you can take one more step without passing out.”

  The former hockey super-jock punched a fist into her hand in excitement while I frowned in fond remembrance of the too few long nights of lovemaking with Luke Drake that had occurred between killings and kidnappings. So far, the dude had stamina up the ying-yang. I’d love to put him to the test for a solid two weeks or months to be sure it wasn’t a fluke.

  ‘A Luke Fluke,’ the sex kitten voice giggled and I did, too.

  Tre smiled at my giggle and gave me the approving power fist at my enthusiasm for her idea. “That’s it, Bel! We’ll follow that by an Event Night.” Tre reached over and lightly smacked my hip. “Between serious exercise and Event Night, you and Jazy will feel better, I guarantee it!”

  ‘We’ll probably die,’ I thought rubbing my hip, but I was intrigued in spite of my tired leeriness.

  Last time Tre suggested serious exercise; a bunch of us girls played a continuous, eight hour session of paintball outside against four different groups of strange guys. We had a great time pretending to be ditzy women that couldn’t shoot and had no game, only to flank and blitz each new group with sneak attacks. As a team, our acting abilities and our shooting strategies steadily improved with each group we competed against, so that by the final fourth round, we didn’t beat the men--we crushed them. We all wore the appropriate protective gear but I was still so bruised and battered after that day, I limped for a week. It was great fun.